The Portrait
by LWD
Summary: Severus Snape stumbles upon one of the secrets of Malfoy Manor.


_Narcissa Elladora Black Malfoy,_ read the small plaque at the bottom of the ornate, gilded frame. Severus Snape has not recalled seeing the portrait in the entry to Malfoy Manor before, and as it was an almost life-sized painting of the lady herself, standing a bit to the left of a grand piano...well, it was not easily overlooked, he mused. 

  


He would have noticed it, had the portrait always been there; this was hardly the first time Lucius kept him waiting in the marble-floored entry of their home. It must be a new acquisition. He shifted his feet and gazed into the cool, Wedgwood-blue eyes of the woman in the portrait. He had known her long but not especially well. It was difficult to imagine that anyone knew her well. 

  


_It's not as if you're exceptionally approachable either_, his subconscious whispered. But it was different for this woman. Coldness seemed to emanate from the portrait, and he shivered involuntarily. 

  


Narcissa _was_ beautiful, he mused. She had been painted in robes of white satin shot with silver; her hair was wound into a sleek white-blond chignon. A bit of faint color on her cheeks and lips gave her face definition. High cheekbones and a sharp chin, combined with a faintly disdainful expression made her seem indifferent and haughty; untouchable. She was a lovely china figurine of a woman—delicate, brittle and white.

  


He became aware, as he waited and studied the picture, of the sound of a piano. He listened carefully...light fingers trilled up and down the keys. There was no melody or pattern, just the sound of scales and a few hesitant chords. The player, whomever it was, seemed to be warming up. He did not recall seeing a piano in the manor, but that was not unusual. The manor concealed more than it revealed, he thought, his mind flickering to the shadowy dungeons where Death Eater business was normally conducted. 

  


The sounds of the piano stopped, briefly, and then he heard the keys being struck again, more purposefully. The melody that wafted into the entryway was vaguely familiar and he searched his memory trying to place it. Finally, he knew. Debussy. Clare de Lune. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The irony of a romantic piano ballad wafting through the halls of the headquarters of Voldemort's uprising was...unexpected. 

  


His curiosity overrode the knowledge that Lucius would appear at any moment. Severus walked in the direction of the music. It seemed to originate behind a set of double doors which he knew led into an ornate receiving room. He gently pushed open the left-hand door and peered through the cracked doorway. The candles were lit, but the room was not in use. The music was more audible in here, and he stealthily pursued the sound through the room to the door on the opposite end, which led to a large library. The door was cracked, and light from the library shone in. He brushed the door open a bit wider to allow himself a better view and glanced inside.

  


The coffered ceilings soared in this book-lined room, and along the far end was a grand piano. Narcissa sat at the keys, her eyes intent on the score before her. Her cheeks were flushed, and almond-shaped eyes were narrowed in concentration. Her deft hands skimmed the keys, bringing the nuances and emotion of the piece to life; he had not imagined her capable of the emotional depth that she attempted to create. The music was a drifting, evocative piece and she played with singular concentration. 

  


Watching her, so engaged and vibrant, he wondered if any of his assumptions about Narcissa had ever been true. Severus spent much of his time occluding his real motivations from the eyes of others; it was essential, as a spy, that he do so. His detachment was beyond habitual; it was ingrained. Narcissa reminded him, forcibly, that he was not the only one with an interior life that did not match his exterior mask. 

  


Ice princess indeed, he thought. Perhaps the princess moniker suited her, but certainly the woman before him was not as arctic as she appeared on canvas.

  


Finally, the last few notes fell from her fingers and she looked up, as if coming out of a daze. He caught her eye then, and her posture straightened imperceptibly.

  


"Why, Severus," she said, "I'm an ungracious hostess. Forgive me, I didn't hear you come in." Her tone was reserved, but there was an odd undercurrent to it. She seemed to be a bit guilty, although of what he did not know. Perhaps it was just that he had caught her with her guard down. 

  


"I was waiting to speak to Lucius—I was summoned. The sound of your playing caught my attention. I hope you don't mind..." he trailed off. To his own ears, it sounded like a ridiculous explanation. Severus had intruded upon what was clearly a private moment. But he seemed at a loss for a better reason. 

  


"So you know my little secret now, hmm?" Narcissa said. "I don't play for others. Lucius finds my interest in Muggle music to be a bit...coarse. He insists that I need a proper wizarding hobby, like breeding champion crups or heading up charity drives for St. Mungo's." She punctuated this confession with a tiny, brittle laugh that conveyed no real amusement at all.

  


"You play very well." 

  


"How gracious of you." she demurred "I assure you that it's an entirely ordinary skill."

  


He decided not to pursue it further. He knew how uncomfortable it was to be caught off-guard. "I noticed the portrait in the entrance. Is it new?"

  


"Yes, let me show it to you." she said, clearly grateful for the change of subject. She led him through the dimly-lit rooms back into the shining marble entry. "Lucius commissioned it 6 months ago, and the artist delivered it last week. What do you think?"

  


He looked at the portrait. The exquisitely sculpted woman in the picture was almost a stranger to him now. She bore only a passing resemblance to the Narcissa who played the piano, whose expression had been tender, unguarded, vulnerable. The portrait, which he thought had captured her so well, now seemed like a caricature. He was unnerved by the juxtaposition of the two.

  


"It's not a good likeness." he blurted out, remembering only her rapt expression as she sat at the piano.

  


She turned her pale eyes on him and held his gaze for a minute. A momentary understanding flickered between the two of them.

  


Narcissa was the first to look away. "Do you think so?" she said, looking again at the portrait. Her tone held no resentment, only a sort of curiosity. 

  


"You're different, when you play." he said "That's how you should have been painted." The words tumbled out before he could stop himself. He felt strangely exposed and slightly embarrassed. Even so, he was perversely glad that he'd said it. It felt good to speak the truth, for once.

  


Thankfully, Lucius appeared and the moment was over. "Good evening, Severus. Have you been waiting long?"

  


"No, not at all," he responded. His self-control slid into place, automatically, as if it had never left him. 

  


Whatever had passed between him and Narcissa evaporated as Severus followed Lucius into the dungeons. He tucked the odd exchange into a corner of his mind, to be examined when he was at leisure to think of such things. 

  


But Severus eventually found that he would rather not think on it. 

**


End file.
